


Lilac Skies

by voxofthevoid



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Awkward Tension, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Hopeful Ending, Implied Lilia/Minako, M/M, Mentions of Past Victor/Others, Mentions of Past Yuuri/Others, Model Victor Nikiforov, Past High School Sweethearts, Post-Break Up, Skater Katsuki Yuuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-11-06 18:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17944979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxofthevoid/pseuds/voxofthevoid
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov and Katsuki Yuuri fall in love at sixteen, leave for different countries at eighteen, and break apart at twenty. It's a typical first love; its fire burning bright then simmering down into embers that leave them cold and empty.They live their lives, both of them, halfheartedly trying to forget that bittersweet ache, an impossible task with one a world famous model and the other a top tier skater, always in the media's eyes.When circumstances throw them together ten years later, all it should be is coincidence, slightly awkward and ultimately meaningless.But Viktor and Yuuri were never good at making things easy for each other, except perhaps falling in love.





	1. you're dripping like a saturated sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic to try my hand at a trope that I technically like but is extremely picky about. It didn’t take long for me to end up writing it as a strange sort of catharsis.
> 
> Am I purged, purified? Who knows.

_You were red, and you liked me because I was blue_  
_But you touched me, and suddenly I was a lilac sky_  
 _Then you decided purple just wasn't for you_

\- Colors, Halsey

 

 

“A little closer, Katsuki,” the photographer calls out. “Chin up.”

Yuuri has to fight down a grimace because that’s only going to invite more criticism and shuffles closer to his partner, shifting his grip on the smooth, slick hip under his palm and slowly raising his head to meet the same gaze he’s been avoiding since this whole mess started.

Viktor Nikiforov’s pretty blues pierce into him.

Yuuri doesn’t know how he forgot how damnably bright his eyes are. Screens and photos don’t do justice to the way they seem to swirl and shift between blues and greens, pulling you in like an ocean current. Yuuri wants to look away before he gets lost in them, but at this point, the desire to be finally done with this photoshoot outweighs his aversion to his fellow model.

That doesn’t make it any less irritating that Viktor seems to have none of Yuuri’s reticence. His lips are smiling and his eyes, while lovely, are empty. It’s almost like looking at a stranger, which would be reassuring except that there’s no force on earth that can make Yuuri forget his memories of Viktor.

He’s tired.

It’s easier in some strange way to give in and just _look_ at Viktor.

“Perfect,” he hears someone whisper in the background. “Just like that.”

Yuuri can feel Viktor’s hand on his shoulder like a brand, the heat of it searing his skin despite the cold water poured over them both mere minutes ago. He wonders, distantly, if he’ll feel that touch for the next ten years too.

When it’s over, it feels like it’s been hours and also just a minute. Yuuri is frozen for a few seconds, now on his knees between Viktor’s legs, staring down at the man with sex in his smirk and an invitation is his eyes, all of it eerily familiar except that this is laughably fake while the Viktor in Yuuri’s memories is sincere in his seduction.

Then he all but leaps back, staggering to his feet and turning away before Viktor can do the same.

It’s a relief to change out of the speedos that barely cover his modesty and into proper clothes that are warm and reassuringly bulky. Minako gives him an exasperated glance when he emerges, an expert after all these years in gauging his mood, but waves him off without nary a word, her playful wink a promise that she’ll deal with everything.

Minako has been murmuring about retiring lately, citing old age and aching bones. Yuuri would love for her to have the relaxed life of leisure she’s earned ten times over but is unspeakably terrified of navigating his career without her by his side. He could get another manager but logic of that kind has no place in fear, and he knows anyway that no one will ever measure up to Minako.

He nods at her and reaches deep inside himself to dredge up a grateful smile.

Then he flees.

Because the universe hates him, he doesn’t get far.

“Yuuri!”

“Oh _fuck_ no,” Yuuri bites out, stumbling to a stop in the middle of the previously empty hallway. It’s sheer exhaustion, more mental than physical, that makes him curse out loud and any hope that the other person didn’t hear flies out the window when Viktor’s picture-perfect smile freezes in place.

“Ah,” Viktor says. “Kastuki then?”

Yuuri would really appreciate it if the ground would be so kind as to swallow him right now.

“No,” he says when seconds tick by and the silence grows heavier. “Yuuri’s fine. Hey, Viktor.”

He’s proud of himself for keeping his voice steady on Viktor’s name, even more for not calling him Vitya. No one needs to know that he practiced this in his hotel room last night, in the hours after midnight when sleep evaded him, until the first light of dawn eased in through the windows.

“Hello, Yuuri,” Viktor returns, softer, his smile gentling into something that almost passes as genuine.

Yuuri’s own is a grimace.

He’s not prepared for this. Yesterday was bad enough, and he and Viktor only had to greet each other before they were whisked off to their individual shoots, and he didn’t catch more than passing glimpses of him for the rest of the day. But he spent most of today being forced into increasingly intimate positions with Viktor. Yuuri’s mortification has discovered new horizons.

“We couldn’t speak at all yesterday,” Viktor tells him, smiling sheepishly like it’s such a shame that happened.

“I thought that was the point,” Yuuri replies, stiff, too tired for diplomacy.

Viktor blinks like he’s surprised. Yuuri just shrugs.

“It didn’t seem like you wanted to,” is all he offers.

He keeps the bitterness out of his voice because that’s too ridiculous for Yuuri to admit to. So what if, under all the dread, there was a sliver of excitement that withered and died when Viktor gave him that brilliant, blank smile and shook his hands with all the warmth of an iceberg? Yuuri’s just an idiot.

It’s a little more satisfying to watch Viktor squirm, maybe not expecting Yuuri to call him out like that. To be fair, Yuuri’s surprised too. It’s not like him to be confrontational.

Then again, this is hardly a typical situation where typical rules apply.

Gods, he’s tired.

“I should get going,” Yuuri says when Viktor seems to be out of words. “It was nice seeing you again, Vit-ktor.”

Yuuri calls himself every filthy name he knows as he turns away. There’s no way Viktor didn’t notice his slip, not with that clumsy save. It’s ridiculous that ten whole years haven’t managed to erase such a pointless instinct from his youth.

On the bright side, the shoot is over, this is Yuuri’s last modeling gig for the foreseeable future, and he can soon return to aggressively not thinking about Viktor Nikiforov while also somehow following his career.

Mad skills, Yuuri has them.

“Wait, Yuuri!”

The universe continues to hate him.

He doesn’t turn around this time, only waits for Viktor to join him. When he does but stays quiet, Yuuri continues walking, not even surprised when Viktor keeps pace with him.

The silence reigns until they’re out of the studio and in the busy street. The light’s fading, which is a little jarring since the studio was lit up to emulate a sunny beach. It’s kinder to his eyes, and Yuuri shuffles over to a corner of the sidewalk, awkwardly balancing his lens case on one bent knee as he takes out his contacts and seals them up. His eyes itch but he resists the urge to rub them, taking out his glasses and putting them on, blinking a little when the world – and Viktor’s face – snaps to focus.

“Wow,” Viktor says, a surprised tilt to his mouth. “You still wear the same frames.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Yuuri sighs. “Those broke years ago. They’re similar, not the same.”

Viktor just shrugs.

“Same thing, really.”

No, it’s really not, but even Yuuri’s not ridiculous enough to start an argument over his fucking frames.

“So?” Viktor asks, clapping his hands excitedly. “Where are we going?”

“I am going to my room and sleeping for a year. You’re…I have no idea what the hell you’re doing. Shouldn’t you be in the studio?”

“Yakov will take care of it. I could ask you the same question, Yuuri.”

“Minako,” is all he says. It’s answer enough. “And I’m not a professional model.”

Viktor’s smile slips, not much but enough to be noticeable.

“No,” he murmurs. “You’re not. So imagine my surprise when I found out we’d be doing this together.”

Yuuri wonders if Viktor also tried to avoid it. Unlikely. He’s not like Yuuri; Viktor never runs away. And honestly, what does he have to run from? They’re ancient history, the two of them. Yuuri’s just blessed with exceptionable awkwardness and prefers to avoid everything embarrassing about his past, Viktor Nikiforov included.

Viktor Nikiforov especially.

“I’m not making a habit of it,” Yuuri says when it becomes clear that Viktor’s waiting for an answer. “But I’m retired now, not as marketable as I used to be. Minako’s all about seizing opportunities and making the best of them while we can.”

“And you just go along with that?”

Yuuri looks away.

“I trust her.”

“Fair enough,” Viktor replies, and in the same breath, asks, “Want to get coffee with me?”

It’s nearly six. If Yuuri drinks coffee now, he’ll be wide awake till midnight. And did Viktor not hear Yuuri say he wanted to go back to his room and _sleep_?

Still, it’s not a straightforward refusal that leaves his lips.

“Why?”

“Well, uh, you like coffee? Unless you don’t anymore. But I swear I saw Minako give you a cup yesterday… It’s fine, there’s this great bakery a few blocks away, we can go there.”

Yuuri listens, bemused, to that rapid, chirpy speech.

“I like coffee. That’s not what I meant, Viktor. Why do you want to go anywhere with me?”

Viktor looks a little like he doesn’t know how to answer that, and Yuuri really doesn’t know how to feel when he recognizes the way Viktor raises his index finger to his mouth and taps his lower lip.

“We could…catch up?” Viktor offers, not sounding so sure of himself. “It’s been years.”

“A decade,” Yuuri says and spends the next few seconds wanting to punch himself.

Viktor smiles and something tells Yuuri he knows exactly how long it’s been.

He still doesn’t know why he says yes.

 

* * *

 

(“Italy?”

“Um, yeah. Valentina Russo agreed to take me on. She already has the Crispino twins, and I’m on good terms with them so…”

“What about Detroit and Celestino?”

“He’s good. But I don’t think his coaching will suit me. Minako agrees.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. And you’re going to Russia.”

“I – yes. Yakov’s arranged things with Lilia’s agency. She’s a legend in modeling, Yuuri. I can’t believe she agreed to take me on!”

“I’m so happy for you, Vitya.”

“Yuuri…you know, Lilia's based in St. Petersburg. Yuri Plisetsky coaches at a rink there. He’s a pretty big deal in skating, isn’t he?”

“Sure, he’s only the most decorated male figure skater. He’d also eat me alive. We won’t fit, Vitya. Thank you, though, for thinking about me.”

“Sorry. I just wanted to be with you.”

“I want to be with you too. But it’ll be fine. We’ll talk and text every day, and we’ll visit during breaks. And, I dunno, maybe my competitions and your shoots will overlap. That’d be cool, right?”

“Yes! And of course, we’ll be fine, Yuuri! You’re my life and my love!”

“Oh my god, _Vitya_.”

“What?!”

“…I love you too. Dork.”)

 

* * *

 

“You okay?” Viktor asks. “You don’t look so well.”

 _I’m remembering things I don’t want to remember_ , Yuuri almost says.

“Headache. It’s fine. The coffee will help.”

Viktor says nothing and doesn’t stop staring at Yuuri. It’s worse that Yuuri can’t take his eyes off him either.

“You look well,” Viktor says after a while. “All mature.”

“I’m thirty,” Yuuri tells him, pushing up his glasses. “You look good too. But you’ve always looked good.”

“Occupational hazards,” Viktor quips, smiling prettily.

He has a lot of smiles these days. Yuuri doesn’t like that he doesn’t recognize most of them or that over half of them don’t seem real.

“You’ve changed,” he says before he can stop himself.

“Of course I have. Like you said, it’s been a decade.”

Yuuri nods, ducks his head, and has to hold back a sigh when their drinks and snacks arrive. He takes the coffee with and happily hides his face behind the cup. It helps that it tastes wonderful, scalding and bitter.

Viktor makes a face at the coffee and happily sips his tea. At least he’s not putting jam in it, but maybe he’s only sparing Yuuri’s sensibilities.

“I thought we’d run into each other a long time before this,” Viktor tells him, staring out the window. His fingers tap against his cup, nails clicking delicately. “Even after…well, after.”

Yuuri has to swallow twice before he can speak and when he does, he makes eye contact with his distorted reflection in the coffee.

“I suppose we didn’t have any reason for it. Skating and modeling doesn’t really mix.”

When Yuuri raises his head, it’s to find Viktor giving him an arch look.

“We just came from a photoshoot. Both of us.”

“That’s different.”

He’s glad that Viktor doesn’t ask how. Because the only answer Yuuri has is that until this quiet disaster, he has always been careful with the little modeling he did, looking over his sponsors’ offers carefully and rejecting those that would put him even in the periphery of Viktor. It helped that most of them were from Japan, for sports supplies or quirky ads.

Of course, what Viktor says instead is no less damning.

“I came to your skates. Not all of them, not even most of them. But quite a few. Both of the Olympics. 2015 Grand Prix, the one where you blew up the world.”

Yuuri snorts at that.

“Eros wasn’t that big a deal. And really? I never saw you.”

“I was in disguise.” Viktor winks, playful, and something trembles in Yuuri’s chest. “It wouldn’t do to attract attention, would it?”

“You could have come to me, after the skating.”

“Could I though?”

Yuuri gives an empty smile of his own.

He doesn’t judge Viktor. He’s only admitting, in a roundabout way, to the same thing Yuuri is guilty of. Avoiding Viktor, even though they swore in that last, stilted conversation, all those years ago, that they never would.

“So you watched me skate. How was I?”

Viktor’s lashes flutter, expression so fond that Yuuri has to look away.

“Stunning, Yuuri. You were stunning.”

 

* * *

 

(He spun to a stop, arms raised to the heaven, eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling. Everything burned, arms and legs and lungs, but there was something like triumph tucked between his teeth.

Applause rang out, born of a singular set of hands.

Yuuri didn’t need to see to know who it was.

“How long have you been here?” he asked, calm, where he once might have yelped, startled and embarrassed.

“A while,” Viktor answered, utterly cheerful. “I’d have called out but you were so into it. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You know you’re not supposed to be in here.”

He skated over, Viktor handing him his glasses the second he was within reach. The blurry mass of blue and silver came into sharp focus; Viktor, grinning, long hair gathered into a bun, so beautiful that it hurt.

“And you, my Yuuri, aren’t supposed to skate alone but here we are.”

Yuuri huffed, leaning against the boards, raising a challenging eyebrow.

“What are you gonna do about it? Report me?”

Viktor frowned, the effect lost in the way his lips kept twitching up.

“My boyfriend is such a delinquent,” he sighed. “I wonder if he’ll corrupt me.”

It was a struggle not to burst into laughter, but Yuuri managed, instead reaching out to pull Viktor close by his collar.

“I don’t think you’ll mind,” he whispered against lips that parted in a gasp, warm breath brushing Yuuri’s skin. “Vitya.”

The kiss he stole sent heat shuddering through his veins, the whole of him trembling as much from the skating as Viktor’s heady taste.

“Fuck,” Viktor breathed when they pulled back, lips kissed red, eyes blown wide. “I can’t think when you do that.”

Yuuri skated away, laughing.

“Do think then, and tell me what you thought.”

Viktor smiled like there was only one answer to that.

“Stunning, my Yuuri. You were stunning.”)

 

* * *

 

The silence between them is a strange thing. It’s not that they’ve run out of things to say; how can they, when they’ve been apart so long that they know nearly nothing of each other except the half-truths the media plasters over its outlets. But that’s the problem too.

They’re not quite strangers, not quite anything else. It’s hard to know what to say, harder still to speak.

They can stall with their drinks only for so long. Yuuri doesn’t know whether it’s relief or disappointment that makes him sag when the bill arrives. They split it between them, a well-remembered tradition, no argument needed.

When they leave, Yuuri walks a little closer to Viktor than he thinks is polite. Their sleeves brush now and then, the sensation barely there for all that Yuuri is hypersensitive to it. He wonders if Viktor’s fingers will slot amidst his with the perfect ease of the past. Probably not. They were different then, younger, happier, and all too willing to hold onto each other when they couldn’t walk on their own.

Yuuri’s forgotten how to lean on people.

Inevitably, they have to go their separate ways.

It should be simple; an awkward reunion, another memory to cram into the growing collection of things he doesn’t want to remember. There’s quite a few. Viktor stars in an unsettling number of them.

It’s not that easy.

“How long are in the city?” Viktor asks.

“A week. Minako wants to go sightseeing. And meet up with your Lilia.”

“They’re friends?”

“They go way back, apparently. I don’t know the details. I’m kind of scared to, to be honest.”

Viktor chuckles, nudging Yuuri with an elbow.

“And you? What are your plans?”

“Well, the bed in my suite is big and comfortable.”

It’s not until Viktor stops walking and makes a choking noise that Yuuri realizes how that might sound.

“For sleeping! Comfortable to sleep in. That’s what I meant. All I meant.”

Viktor nods mutely, eyes still wide. There’s a hint of red at the tips of his ears. Yuuri stares, fascinated, thankful that Viktor’s too far away to reach out and touch.

“Well, yes. Of course. But a week’s a long time to just sleep. You might be bored.”

Yuuri hums noncommittally. He waits though, because he knows there’s more that Viktor wants to say.

“I could show you around,” he says in the end, cheery and hopeful. “I do live here.”

“Don’t you have work?”

“I’ve taken the week off,” Viktor answers, calm and confident.

“Liar,” Yuuri says, startled when it comes out light with affection. Viktor doesn’t seem to notice, gaping instead, mouth parted in an expression that might be comical if it isn’t so – so–

“You’ve always been able to tell when I’m lying,” Viktor says, and he sounds like he’s trying to laugh, but it comes out odd.

“It’s not my fault you’re a lousy liar,” Yuuri tells him.

“No,” Viktor replies, still in that strange voice. “I’m really not.”

Yuuri doesn’t know what to say to that so he says nothing, until the pensive surprise on Viktor’s face shifts into something less perplexing.

“It’s fine though. I’ll take the week off.”

“You – you really don’t have to.”

“Would you believe me if I say I really want to?”

Yuuri would like not to, but when Viktor looks at him like this, open and almost vulnerable, he has to.

 

* * *

 

(“You don’t call as much,” Yuuri whispered into the phone, timid like he didn’t quite want to be heard. There was a beat of silence when he feared he hadn’t been, that he’d have to spend another two weeks summoning the nerve to force out the words, but after a pause, there was a rough exhale, and Viktor answered.

“I’m busy,” he said, a tad too loud, defensive even. He softened the next moment. “I’m sorry, Yuuri. It gets so – frustrating here, sometimes. I don’t mean to ignore you. I really am busy, and you’re always on my mind.

They were familiar words. They used to make Yuuri smile.

He didn’t know why they didn’t anymore. It wasn’t that he thought Viktor was lying, at least not to Yuuri. To himself, maybe. Yuuri had done that too.

“It’s fine, Vitya. I understand.”

“Really?” Viktor asked, so hopeful that Yuuri ached, somewhere deep inside.

“Yeah. Really.”

Yuuri had stopped lying to himself, but he would lie to Viktor until Viktor was ready to stop lying to himself.

And after that…

He didn’t know what would happen. But he didn’t think he’d like it.)


	2. you're ripped at every edge but you're a masterpiece

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the amazing response, guys! It's as heartwarming as usual <3

He does hope, in that way he’s grown to recognize as a defensive sort of pessimism, that Viktor won’t show up. Yuuri would even understand it. Last evening was charged with things he couldn’t name; quiet, restless things. It makes sense that Viktor’s offer was born of the same strange urge that made Yuuri accept.

Minako, when Yuuri lays out his perfectly sensibly theory, gives him a look that says she very much wants to clock him up the head.

“Sure,” is all she says. “You believe that. I’ll check out tomorrow. Lilia’s meeting me.”

“You’re staying with her?”

Minako’s smile is a faint, private thing. Yuuri wonders if he looks like that when he thinks of Viktor and immediately crushes the thought.

“For the week,” she says, and of course it’s for the week, they’re leaving for America after that, but Yuuri thinks the clarification is more for herself than him. It’s unsettling in a way he can’t pinpoint. He swallows the question on the tip of his tongue and turns away.

The next morning, Minako’s gone, Yuuri’s twitchy, and there’s a knock on the door at 9 am sharp.

Yuuri yanks it open and meets Viktor’s wide blue eyes.

“Oh,” he breathes. “You’re here.”

“It’s the time we agreed on.”

That’s not what Yuuri meant at all. But he nods, opens the door wider, and lets Viktor inside.

“I, uh, ordered breakfast. Room service.”

“For me too?”

“Yes.”

Yuuri told himself that he was ordering for himself. He’s always been a stress-eater. But the pancakes, tea, and jam glaring at him from the table tell a different story.

Viktor looks delighted. Yuuri looks away.

They eat in silence. Yuuri sneaks glances at Viktor in between bites of his toast. He’s different today; not coiffed to eerie perfection for one thing. There are strands of hair that splay on his forehead and shift with each of his movements. The faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose are visible, a rarity even in their high school days, at least until Viktor discovered how Yuuri loved to count each one with his lips. Then, they were exposed more often than not, hidden under make-up only when Viktor had a shoot. Yuuri hasn’t seen them since they broke up. The Viktor in magazine covers and billboards was always airbrushed to an inch of his life.

He’s still perfect, but in a way that makes him seem human and all the more devastating for it.

It’s hard, sometimes, to tear his eyes off him. Viktor catches him, once or twice or ten times, but never says a word, just smiles in a way that makes Yuuri’s face heat.

“So,” Viktor chirps when they finish. “What should we do today?”

“You tell me.”

“No preferences?”

“Sleep sounds nice,” Yuuri says mildly, hiding a grin behind his hand when Viktor pouts theatrically.

Some things don’t change.

“I have someone I’d like you to meet,” Viktor says once they’re outside Yuuri’s hotel.

It takes every ounce of willpower Yuuri has to not freeze on the spot. He takes his time answering. Deep breathes, in and out. He won’t stumble over his words, won’t let anything show.

“Oh?” he manages to ask, proud of keeping his voice bland. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Lucky girl!” Viktor says, and this time, Yuuri does do a double take.

He is…very sure that Viktor’s as gay as they come. He doesn’t care either way, not to mention that would be hypocritical of him, but it’s still a shock to have something he’s taken for granted for many long years so thoroughly challenged.

“Sure,” Yuuri hears himself say. “Let’s meet her.”

In his defense, Viktor’s past relationships were highly publicized, mostly by gossip rags that Yuuri felt vaguely ashamed of even buying, especially knowing full well that he only did so because Viktor’s face was on their covers. Each and every time, his companions were men.

Yuuri remembers a particularly dull December evening where he listed each of Viktor’s known lovers in chronological order and tried to find what they had in common. He found nothing, not that he should have expected to. People are more complicated than that.

And Yuuri, who went from being incandescently in love with Viktor Nikiforov to Sara Crispino’s and then Michele Crispino’s beds for trysts that left his body sated and heart numb, knows this all too well.

Yuuko and Takeshi were another matter entirely. Yuuri carefully steers his mind away from that direction and over to the city, cold and beautiful all around them. He considers it a blessing that he manages to shut off his mind and blankly stare at the sights until they reach Viktor’s apartment.

It’s a nice place, hardly extravagant but elegant and roomy. Yuuri expects the woman Viktor mentioned to open the door, but it’s Viktor who takes out a key and opens the door with a flourish, inviting Yuuri in with a grin.

“Makka, baby,” Viktor calls. “I’m home, and I bought someone to meet you!”

Yuuri holds his breath and waits. There’s the familiar clack of claws on tiles and suddenly, a large shape rounds the corner and throws itself at Yuuri.

He lands on his back with several kilos of affectionate poodle slobbering all over his face. He laughs, startled, and gets another thorough dose of doggy loving for his trouble.

“Here she is,” Viktor says from above them. “Makkachin!”

“Hello, Makkachin,” Yuuri gasps when she finally lets him up. She gives a low whine at her name and buts him gently with her head. “Aren’t you a pretty girl?”

“Very,” Viktor says, eyeing the mess on Yuuri’s face with naked amusement. “Bathroom’s over there. Think you’ll want to clean up.”

“You know I’ll just end up in the same state again,” Yuuri says but gets up anyway, making his way over to where Viktor pointed.

The first look in the mirror makes him start because he’s smiling, wide enough that his eyes are crinkled, his cheeks a faint pink. Makkachin is adorable, and she reminds him of Vicchan, but bigger, lighter. He wants, with a sudden, burning need, to take Viktor to Vicchan, but his dearest friend isn’t as young as used to be and can’t travel much. He’s in Hasetsu with Yuuko and Takeshi. The triplets adore him.

Maybe it’s better that way. Viktor knows enough of Japanese culture to know precisely what inspired Vicchan’s name, and Yuuri’s a few bottles of vodka short of being in any state to explain to his ex-boyfriend that he was so lonely after they broke up that he adopted the sweetest puppy he could find and named him after said ex-boyfriend.

Makkachin’s a nice, neutral name. Yuuri loves her already.

When he returns, Viktor’s sprawled on the couch and tapping at his phone, Makkachin stretched out beside him with her head on his lap.

“Hey,” Viktor says, smiling at Yuuri. He scoots over, freeing just enough space between him and the arm for Yuuri to squeeze into. It’ll be a tight fit, he’ll be touching Viktor from shoulder to hip, and there’s a perfectly nice armchair a few feet away that would be perfect for Yuuri.

He sits on the couch.

Makkachin immediately squirms about until she’s half in Viktor’s lap with her head in Yuuri’s. He follows the unspoken demand and scratches her behind the ears.

“Spoiled,” Viktor admonishes without any heat.

“Like any dog raised by you was ever not going to be,” Yuuri says without missing a beat. “You’re weak to puppies, Vitya.”

Yuuri stills the next moment, but Viktor only laughs like there’s nothing wrong.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Hey, you remember how we used to say we’d get a poodle when we–”

It’s Viktor who falls silent this time. Yuuri can see every inch of him tense.

“Married,” Yuuri completes, quietly, furiously marveling at himself.

“Yeah,” Viktor murmurs, fingers tight in Makkachin’s fur.

It’s silly, really. They were so young. But they were high on love too.

“I have one,” Yuuri says before the silence can choke him. “His – a toy poodle. Here, I have pictures.”

He takes out his phone, flips to Vicchan’s folder, and shoves it at Viktor before he can change his mind. He sees Viktor’s eyes widen, _knows_ that it’s at Vicchan’s name, but he says nothing, only coos how cute he is, and Yuuri’s absurdly grateful for it.

 

* * *

 

(“Yuuuuri,” Viktor whined, high and pitiful and far cuter than he had any right to be. “This is cruel.”

Yuuri didn’t even look up from his task.

“Finish your homework, Vitya.”

“Whose idea was it to do homework on a _picnic_?”

Yuuri spared him a wry glance.

“Yours. I believe you said we could concentrate better when surrounded by nature. And dogs.”

“Well, I can’t.”

“I’m seeing that. Except I don’t need to because I told you so, Vitya.”

“Yuuri, can we–”

“No.”

“But I didn’t–”

“Do your homework or so help me, you’re not getting laid for a week.”

Viktor shut up and did his homework.

Yuuri looked longingly at the tiny pomeranian curled up with a kid a short distance away. He wanted to pet it, and he knew exactly what Viktor was sneaking looks at, but if he left, then absolutely nothing would keep Viktor in place with his physics homework. So Yuuri lay back down on the blanket with a sigh and returned his attention to the task at hand.

Soon, he was done and left with nothing to but watch Viktor. It was a very good thing that he absolutely adored watching Viktor.

He was made to be watched, crafted like a work of art. Yuuri never stopped wondering how Viktor, fey and ethereal, ever ended up with plain, boring Yuuri, but Viktor never made him feel that they were anything less than equals, and Yuuri was too selfish in his love to ever let him go.

Viktor suddenly looked up, catching Yuuri’s eyes and beaming.

“Done!” he hissed, dropping his books to the side and reaching back to take out the clip binding his hair. It fell around his shoulders in a messy curtain that Yuuri wanted to bury his face in. “What’s that, Yuuri?”

Yuuri looked at the little project he’d been working on since finishing his homework. He sat up and crawled over to Viktor, settling cross-legged opposite him. Viktor watched curiously as Yuuri look his left hand in his own, blushing a pretty pink when Yuuri pressed a kiss to the knuckles.

“Your reward,” Yuuri said simply as he slid the twig ring on Viktor’s finger.

It was a joke. All Yuuri hoped was for a laugh and maybe a kiss. Instead, he got Viktor staring at the ring like Yuuri had put a three-carat diamond on him.

“Uh, Vitya?”

“You’re so sweet!”

And then Yuuri was on his back on the blanket, Viktor’s physics textbook digging uncomfortably into his skull. He didn’t even care because Viktor loomed above him, and the sweet heart-shape of his mouth was all Yuuri could see. Viktor’s hair fell around them like a bright silver veil.

“I’ll give you a real ring one day,” Yuuri said quietly, reaching up to cup Viktor’s face. “Would you like that?”

Viktor’s eyes grew impossibly softer.

“I’d love it, my Yuuri.”)

 

* * *

 

They don’t meet until evening on the second day. Viktor couldn’t actually free up his schedule for the whole week, something that didn’t surprise Yuuri when he was told, and was busy for the day. Yuuri slept for most of that time, happy for the rest.

He can recall vague dreams that were an odd blend of exciting and unpleasant, but the details evade him, and by the time he’s dressed and ready to go to Viktor, even the residual feelings are gone.

They dine at a high-end restaurant, the kind Yuuri has only been to with the most eminent of his sponsors. It’s not his preference, though he’s uncomfortably aware that he can actually afford these sorts of places nowadays. Viktor, though, is right at home, poised and elegant and charming their waiter three seconds into his arrival. He’s always had a way with people, but there’s something about the practiced ease with which he charms them now that doesn’t sit right with Yuuri.

The Viktor he used to know _liked_ people. He can’t tell if this Viktor even sees the people he’s talking to. He does see Yuuri, looks at him a little too intently, and it’s all Yuuri can do not to squirm away from that gaze.

It’s only after they’ve paid the bill and left the restaurant that it occurs to Yuuri that what they just did could be seen as a date.

But surely not. It seems that way, yes, but this is Viktor and Yuuri. That ship sailed a long time ago for the two of them.

On the drive back, Viktor rests his hand on Yuuri’s thigh, curling his fingers lightly, and Yuuri’s blood _burns_.

Still not a date. Something else.

At his hotel room, Yuuri steps back from the doorway, a silent invitation, and Viktor kicks it shut behind him with loud finality. Yuuri barely hears because Viktor’s mouth is hot on his, and the taste of him is a shock that drives everything else from his mind.

They make it to the bedroom, somehow, leaving a trail of clothes, silent save for breathless gasps and half-formed pleas.

When Yuuri comes up for air, lips tingling from Viktor’s teeth, he’s arrested by the sight under him; Viktor, splayed out on the sheets, hair a silver halo around his head, eyes dark and liquid with desire. There’s a smile on his face, half a smirk, and it only grows when he sees Yuuri looking. Viktor arches, thrusting his body into a gorgeous, obscene display, and the lust Yuuri’s admiration held at bay rushes back with a vengeance.

Viktor’s body is unfamiliar to him now, but there’s echoes of the past in the way he opens up under Yuuri’s touch, warm and wet and tight, clenching around his fingers with little gasping breaths that make heat coil tight in Yuuri’s gut. He takes his time all the same, never quite forgetting that he’s taking something he’s surely not allowed to have, not anymore, not like he did.

Then Viktor’s hands wrap around his neck and pull Yuuri down into a kiss, and thoughts scatter like snow dust.

“Can you…without?” Viktor asks when Yuuri reaches for the condom. He blinks down at him, confused, then incredulous.

“Seriously?”

“I want to feel everything, Yuuri. And my test results are there in my coat. You can check.”

“ _Mine_ are in America, Vitya.”

Viktor just shrugs, a devil’s smile on the edges of his lips.

“I trust you.”

Yuuri doesn’t know what shocks him more, the surety that Viktor planned this or what he’s asking for. Maybe it’s the fact that in the end, he returns the trust, except that they’re strangers in all the ways that matter, and this isn’t trust, just madness.

It’s worth it when he presses inside and Viktor’s a fever-hot vice around him, pulling Yuuri in deeper and deeper in time to the filthy music whispered into his ears. He fists a hand in Viktor’s hair, shorter than the memory engraved into his fingertips but just as soft, bites his need into his skin, and lets himself be lost to the ragged, raging dance of their bodies.

When it’s over, both of them slick with sweat and pleasure, Viktor gives him a smile, slow and lazy and _warm_.

Yuuri swallows what feels like a scream and curls up on one side of the bed, stiffening then forcing himself to relax when Viktor pulls him close.

It’s not until the sky outside begins to lighten that he finally falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

(“I can’t believe you came all the way here just to break up with me.”

Yuuri stifled a sigh and met Viktor’s eye, something he’d been avoiding until now. They were as blue as ever and entirely dull. For once, it was Viktor who looked away.

“I’m sorry,” he bit out. “I’m being unfair.”

“We agreed on this, Vitya.”

“I _know_ , it’s just…”

Yuuri waited, looking down to Paris stretched out under him. The city of love. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

But this was the most convenient location; Viktor was here for a photoshoot, and Yuuri could fly out here easier than he could to Russia. There was a certain appeal to meeting in a neutral place, less like the concession it would have been if he’d met Viktor in his home turf and with none of the guilt he’d have felt if Viktor had come to Milan.

“Doesn’t seem right, somehow,” Viktor said finally. He came to stand beside Yuuri, their arms touching. He was taller now. So was Yuuri but Viktor still had a few inches on him. “That it’s all going to end.”

“We’ve been together all this time. Makes sense that it’s going to feel weird.”

“Three years and five months,” Viktor provided, voice deceptively airy. “The most important of my life.”

“Mine too,” Yuuri admitted. “But not anymore. Not yours either.” Viktor’s mouth thinned but he didn’t deny the truth. “You see though, don’t you, why I came here to do this in person?”

After a lengthy pause, Viktor nodded.

“Wouldn’t feel right to do it over a screen.”

Yuuri smiled and ignored the little voice in his head that said that, for all intents and purposes, they had broken up over a screen. Dwindling texts, stilted calls, busy lives and such little time – at least for each other.

Yuuri had waited for Viktor to bring it up; selfish and cruel, maybe, but he couldn’t bear to be the one who ended them. He had been content to just play a part, to pounce on the topic at Viktor’s first tentative mention and list out all the ways they were wrong for each other, blinking away tears when each one had reminded him of right they used to be. It hadn’t helped that Yuuri had held this conversation, all possible variations he could think of, in his mind for _months_. The past would never cease to be a stinging, gaping loss.

“Do you think we could fix it?” Viktor asked, and Yuuri had lost count of how many times he’d voiced the same question.

“You tell me, Vitya.”

After a few heartbeats, Viktor just smiled, hollow, and ducked his head.

“I’m sorry, Yuuri.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“I still don’t know what went wrong.”

Yuuri willed his frozen fingers to move and grasp Viktor’s hand. It was like stone under his touch, cold and clenched, but then it furled open and clutched Yuuri firmly.

“Nothing did,” Yuuri told him, well-worn words. “We just changed. Grew out of each other, I suppose.”

Viktor huffed a laugh.

“When did you get so wise?”

Yuuri looked up into blue, blue eyes and felt his own burn.

“I’m not. I just had a lot of time to think.”

Viktor wandered back into bed after that, still a mess from their previous activities. It gave Yuuri a strange pang to know that they were still compatible, physically, for all that their hearts had drifted apart. For a few precious seconds, connected so deeply to Viktor, the dredges of lost hope had risen to the forefront, whispering they could try again, make it right. Those had died alongside the afterglow.

“Yuuri,” Viktor called, and Yuuri went to him, as he always would, circumstances be damned.

When he got close, Viktor solemnly took his hands between his and looked into his eyes as if pleading for him not to look away. So he didn’t.

“Tell me we’ll still be friends. That we won’t drift out of each other’s lives. That we’ll still call and text and stay updated. You promised me a gold medal once, and I don’t have a claim to it anymore, but I want to support you when it’s there on your neck.”

It was painfully easy, like this, to remember why he’d fallen for Viktor and never stopped falling, right until they’d both plummeted into some place the other couldn’t follow.

“I promise,” Yuuri whispered, and reached up to catch Viktor in a kiss, one last time.

 

Five months later, he would skate out his heartbreak and win his first Grand Prix Final gold in Seniors.

Two weeks after, he would mail that medal to Viktor and delete his number from his phone.)

 

* * *

 

Yuuri wakes up alone and naked, mind blank for a blissful moment before last night’s memories rush in. His eyes are heavy with grit, aching like the rest of his head. Everything in him screams for sleep, but the sunlight falls bright on his face, and even as he shoves his face into the soft darkness of a pillow, he can feel the last wisps of sleep slipping away from him.

He needs to know if Viktor’s here or if he left once he woke, as he’s well within his rights to.

Yuuri tells himself he expects the latter but when he finds Viktor in the parlor, nimble arranging a platter of fruits he got from god-knows-where, the feelings that rise in his chest are relief and a bubbly sort of delight.

Sheer terror makes his blood run cold.

“What are you doing?” Yuuri asks, harsher than intended.

Viktor jumps, a strawberry slipping from his hand. It rolls to a stop at Yuuri’s feet.

“Ah,” Viktor sighs, turning around. “You scared me.”

“What are you doing?” Yuuri repeats, woodenly this time.

“Breakfast,” Viktor says, shrugging a little. “I figured you’d be hungry. You didn’t eat much last night.”

There’s too much wrong here. Viktor’s not supposed to notice how much Yuuri eats, Viktor’s not supposed to fall into bed with him, and Viktor’s sure as hell not supposed to look at Yuuri in the morning with such tenderness in his smile and act like he wants to _take care_ of Yuuri.

“Get out.”

The command rings in the room, and it takes a long, dazed second for Yuuri to realize it came from him. Viktor looks stricken.

“Please,” Yuuri gasps, whirling away so he doesn’t have to look at him. “Leave.”

He hears nothing for several minutes. And then there’s firm click of a door, echoing in his ears with crushing finality.

Only then does Yuuri let himself crumple to the floor.

 


	3. now i'm covered in the colors pulled apart at the seams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise a hopeful ending. And a very sappy one, it seems.

Yuuri spends the day in bed.

He doesn’t bother to dress, and he can’t remember eating. His face is wet, and his lips are salty when he licks them, and even after he’s downed half a bottle of packaged water, he keeps tasting tears in the back of his throat. He’s glad, in a dull sort of way, that Minako will be away for a few more days. He can’t face her like this, can’t even begin to think how he will explain anything.

But there are words clogging his throat, begging to be released, and Yuuri recoils, knowing whom they want to reach.

He probably overreacted, but even now, as he remembers the way Viktor looked, soft and beautiful in the morning light, Yuuri feels the same shocking burst of joy, pure fear following fast on his feels.

He loved Viktor once and lost him just as surely. He survived too, young and resilient, driven by dreams bigger than himself.

He knows he can’t do it again.

It’s foolish though. Love isn’t even in the equation, and to be so terrified by the barest whisper of its potential is not the kind of thing Yuuri expects of himself. It’s not like he spent his life after the breakup single and moping. He cherished the love he had, and he chased it again, years later. He lost that too, another gentle departure from things he didn’t have the strength to keep holding on to.

But Viktor has always been different. Even now, Yuuri thinks of his life as Before Viktor and After Viktor, the part in the middle, With Viktor, blissfully ignored until that option is wrenched away from him.

It’s tempting to book a ticket and get on the next plane out of Russia, to flee until these last three days are a distant dream. It’s a futile notion, he knows. He’ll never be able to forget the blooming light in Viktor’s eyes when he looked at Yuuri.

He tells himself he’s just going to take a late night stroll, clear his head.

The illusion wobbles when he catches a cab and shatters entirely when he finds himself in front of Viktor’s apartment door.

It opens at the third knock, a very disheveled Viktor blinking bemusedly at him. Yuuri watches, silent and uncertain, at the faint redness in Viktor’s eyes, his half-dressed state and the utter disarray of his hair.

Did he spend the day like Yuuri?

“What are you doing here?” Viktor asks, and Yuuri’s surprised that it comes out concerned rather than accusatory. “It’s late.”

Yuuri checks his phone. Dainty white letters spell out 00:43.

“Oh. I didn’t notice.”

Viktor opens his mouth as if to say something but shuts it quietly, stepping back with the door still open.

“Come on in.”

Makkachin is fast asleep in the living room, curled up on the couch. She rouses at his arrival and peers over at him, tail wagging lazily before she goes right back to sleep. Viktor’s phone lies on the cushion beside her, the screen still bright like Viktor was using it before Yuuri’s knocks pulled him to the door.

“Sorry,” Yuuri says. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“You are,” is Viktor’s answer. “So stay.”

Yuuri swallows, not able to look at Viktor.

“Alright.”

They’re silent after that. Viktor makes coffee for Yuuri and tea for himself, and the distracted way he handles everything is all Yuuri needs to know that he’s doing it because he doesn’t know what else to do. That’s why he doesn’t offer any help and takes the beverage offered without complaint, drinking every last drop even when it’s too sweet and creamy. Viktor makes a face at his own tea, a kind of surprised disgust, and sets it aside. His eyes never leave the countertop, and Yuuri is helpless not to take the chance to look at him.

He really does look bad. Still lovely, because Viktor’s always lovely, even when he cries, but also rough and messy in a way that speaks of prolonged distress.

Yuuri knows he doesn’t look any different.

“Are you okay?” he asks impulsively.

Viktor starts and gives him a wide-eyed stare.

“I – uh, yes.” He smiles, bright and startling, beautiful but unreal. “Why are you here, Yuuri?”

He doesn’t know the answer to that. Or maybe he does, but it’s nothing he can understand let alone voice.

“Why did you sleep with me?”

Viktor’s face goes blank with shock. Yuuri feels curious and a little numb, the latter his last line of defense.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Viktor says in the end. “You’re very beautiful.”

Yuuri shouldn’t, but the disappointment that lances through his heart _hurts_.

“Oh,” he says dully. “That’s alright then.”

Then he leaves.

Or tries. He doesn’t even make it out of the kitchen before Viktor’s there, hand a vice around Yuuri’s shoulder, turning him around none too gently.

“Where are you going?”

“The hotel,” Yuuri says to Viktor’s forehead. “Where else?”

“Why did you come here then?”

Yuuri cocks his head, more confusion seeping into the vaguely pleasant, rapidly disintegrating numbness.

“I – I don’t know. I wanted to know, I guess.”

“Know _what_?” Viktor asks, audibly frustrated.

Yuuri gently peels Viktor’s hand off him.

“What I asked. And you answered. I don’t think I should stay anymore. Goodbye, Vit-Viktor.”

“That’s not fair,” Viktor says, almost angry. “You can’t just come here, ask that, and the leave like you’re – like you’re disappointed. You can’t do this to me, Yuuri.”

Yuuri feels strangely like they’re having two very different conversations.

“Don’t leave again,” Viktor gasps and there are tears in his eyes and Yuuri’s apathy breaks into pieces.

“I’m – I’m sorry,” he offers, bewildered. “I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know what you want from me. I’m confused, Viktor.”

Viktor presses his lips into a flat line and firmly guides Yuuri back to the kitchen.

“Fine. I’ll be honest this time. I slept with you because you were beautiful, yes, but you’ve always been beautiful. I just – wanted you. Close and mine, like it used to be. And I know I can’t have that, so I thought I’d make the best of what I could.”

He bites his lips at the end, looking away from Yuuri before snapping his gaze back, eyeing him expectantly as if to say “your turn.”

“That was years ago,” Yuuri says, breathless. “We’ve apart for over thrice the time we were together.”

“I know,” Viktor says gently. He gives a little laugh, a rough bark of a thing. “That’s the worst part. You think I’d be over you by now. And I am – I _was_ – but the last ten years…Yuuri, I’ve been chasing the high of what it felt like when I was with you. And I didn’t even realize it, not until I saw you here on Monday.”

“You can’t mean that,” Yuuri tells him, his heart not really in the denial. “You – you’re one of the most sought after models in the world. I follow your career, Viktor. And it’s everything you wanted. All those things you dreamed of when we were together – you have it.”

“Almost,” Viktor corrects, with a skewed smile. “Don’t you remember? You were with me in all those dreams.”

“You wanted to be a model long before you met me.”

“Well, yes. I wanted something else too. A man I loved and who loved me.” Another laugh, sweeter this time, almost genuine. “Someone to raise many puppies with. I thought it’d be you.”

“We were kids,” Yuuri whispers. “God, Vitya, we were kids.”

Viktor’s smile turns bitter, and he looks down. Yuuri wants to tip his chin up and kiss away his sorrow.

“I wanted it too,” he says instead. “After I met you, loved you, I wanted you there in my future. I wanted to skate, and I wanted to share it with you. It broke my heart when I couldn’t.”

Viktor raises his head, and Yuuri’s shocked to see tears swimming in his eyes.

“Do you regret coming here, Yuuri? Meeting me again?”

There’s a ‘yes’ on the tip of his tongue, but it tastes like a lie. Yuuri thinks of the last two days, painful and taxing and wildly exhilarating like those few, precious seconds when he’s in the air, before his skates hit the ice.

“No,” Yuuri answers. “I don’t. Do you?”

“It’s the first time in years that I feel alive.”

Yuuri closes his eyes and leans back on his chair, heart racing in his chest.

“I did move on, you know,” Viktor tells him. Yuuri listen without looking at him. “I thought I did it well. I never forgot you, and I never wanted to. You were making waves of you own in figure skating, and I – I was happy, I really was, to see you. I was always saying, wasn’t I, that you’d be a legend one day. You didn’t believe me then. The world says it now. Do you believe them, Yuuri?”

Not really, not always, but Yuuri only offers a tight-lipped smile. He can hear Viktor’s frustration.

“You’re stunning,” he continues. “And I was happy for you. But I was content to watch from afar. I had my own life to deal with, my own growth to rejoice in. You were a lovely chapter of my life, perfect while it lasted, but over.”

It doesn’t escape Yuuri that Viktor speaks in the past tense, like these are all things he used to believe.

He opens his eyes and his breath stutters at the look Viktor’s giving him. It’s the same from this morning, soft and tender. It’s been a long time, and Yuuri’s memories of his time with Viktor are half-fact, half-fancy, but he remembers this look from early mornings in bed and dinner on the couch, holding hands in the beach and checking each other’s homework.

It makes his heart hurt and throat tighten.

“You were my first love,” Viktor confesses like a secret, except that Yuuri knows, has had the words engraved in his memory since the first time Viktor said them. “My last too.”

 _That’s_ a shock, and Yuuri bolts up straight, gaping incredulously.

“Pathetic, isn’t it?” Viktor says, smirking. “My fans all think I’m this cool, suave playboy, but you know me. I’ve always been a contained disaster.”

That isn’t an inaccurate way to put in, but Yuuri’s always found a charm in that, in how Viktor was perpetually composed on the outside but as painfully human as Yuuri behind the façade. It was an honor to be allowed to see the cracks and craters that lay within and be allowed to help cover them up. Yuuri never wanted Viktor to be anything but what he was.

He still doesn’t.

“I loved you for that,” Yuuri murmurs, just loud enough for Viktor to hear. “I loved you as you were.”

“You did,” Viktor agrees with that same soft look. “No one else has. They tried. I couldn’t though.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t,” Viktor says sharply, voice and eyes fierce for a fleeting moment. “You never held me back, Yuuri. Don’t think that.”

Yuuri doesn’t what to say to that so he says nothing, taking in the sight of Viktor instead and wondering if he spent the day thinking just like Yuuri, messy and emotional, thoughts and images assaulting his mind and flitting about, any conclusions vague and out of logic’s grasp.

But logic isn’t what he needs here.

“I did,” Yuuri says after a long pause. He doesn’t look at Viktor. He should stop making a habit of that. “Fall in love, I mean. Back when I lived in Japan as a kid, there was this girl. My best friend. She was kind and smart and I looked up to her a lot. We started skating together. When my family moved to America, I kept skating. She stopped after a while. And there was boy too, her age. We both adored her and hated each other because of it, except that whenever I was sad or hurting, he’d be the first to try and cheer me up, in his own weird way. They were my first friends. They got married, soon after high school. I kept in touch but we weren’t as close anymore.”

He chances a look at Viktor and finds him listening with rapt attention, a complicated expression on his face.

“Do you know that I took a break for two seasons?”

Viktor nods immediately.

“After your five year winning streak at the GPF and Worlds. You came back for the Olympics and retired once you got gold.” Viktor grins when Yuuri blinks at him. “I am your fan, you know.”

It’s a few minutes before Yuuri can speak.

“I – wow. Thank you, Vitya. I went back to Japan for that time. I still kept skating. Valentina looked it over through video chats when she could. Mostly though, I took it easy. Competition had…taken a lot out of me. I was soul-searching, I guess. I didn’t find much in there, but I did find Yuuko and Takeshi. The boy and girl from my childhood. They had kids, triplets. A very happy family.”

“You fell in love with them,” Viktor says, a calm statement.

Yuuri nods, resolutely holding Viktor’s stare.

“I did. I would have kept my mouth shut but well…” He smiles, memories of a different love filtering in. “I’m not really subtle, am I?”

“Not to those who know you,” Viktor agrees, smiling fondly.

“Well, they knew me alright. We got together. And it was…it was good. Wonderful even. But it didn’t feel right. I adored them, and I knew they cared about me, but I never stopped feeling like an intruder. They had so much history, you know, a life they built together. And I was just _there_. They tried to convince me otherwise. I couldn’t… Anyway, I returned to Valentine before the Olympic season. Told her I wanted to compete one last time. I skated for Yuuko and Takeshi, and me too, and I let it go. They said they understood, that they were proud of me.”

Yuuri has trouble believing that, but Yuuko’s smiles are still kind and Takeshi looks at him like Yuuri means something to him.

“We’re still friends,” he finishes, giving Viktor a wavering smile. “Them and you – you’re the only people I’ve loved that way. And Takeshi and Yuuko are wonderful, and I’ll always love them as friends, but you – you’re different. I don’t know how, and I don’t know what that means. I would have kept ignoring it, Vitya, but I’m here and you’re with me, and I’m just so confused.”

Viktor sighs, deep and drawn out.

“Yeah. I know the feeling.”

Yuuri hesitantly reaches over the table, palm up in offer. Viktor stares at it for a while before gently laying his hand on top.

“It’s late,” he tells Yuuri. “Stay over for the night. There’s a guest room.”

“Is that my only option?” Yuuri asks, a small part of him shriveling up in mortification.

“My bed’s yours too,” Viktor answers without missing a beat. “And I’ll keep my hands to myself. But promise me you won’t run in the morning. I – I can’t. Not again.”

Yuuri squeezes Viktor’s arm in apology.

“I won’t. I promise.”

In the end, Viktor doesn’t keep his hands to himself, but Yuuri sleeps soundly, at peace in the circle of his arms.

 

* * *

 

Morning is breakfast on the couch with Makkachin curled up between them. It’s like a perfect snapshot of the future they used to dream about when they were kids, sometimes with playful laughs, sometimes with painful longing, always with hope.

Yuuri’s never understood how the universe works, has never believed in fate or destiny or any cosmic order to the way all these lives mingle and part and fall. He still doesn’t, but there’s something about this moment that tempts him to.

Beside him, Viktor is groggy and smiling, picking at his toast and rubbing Makkachin’s belly. He doesn’t look like he got much sleep, and Yuuri has to wonder if he lay away last night like Yuuri did the other day, marveling about the man in his arms with a blend of fear and awe.

“When are you leaving?”

Yuuri’s sure he told Viktor he’ll be leaving in a week, but he never specified the time either.

“Tuesday evening.”

“Oh.”

Yuuri doesn’t need to read into the dejection of that one sound. He’s feeling the same amidst a torrent of other complicated things.

“What are you doing after this? I never heard anything.”

“I haven’t made any official announcements yet. But you remember Celestino?” At Viktor’s hesitant nod, he continues. “He’s my friend Phichit’s coach. And he asked if I’d like to choreograph for his skaters and um, maybe work as an assistant coach? Learn the ropes and stuff. I said I’d consider it, but I’m probably going to take it. It’s not like I know how to do something that’s not skating.”

“You can do whatever you put your mind to, Yuuri,” Viktor says, and his smile is melancholic but his words are sincere.

Yuuri sighs, thinks of protesting, but well, Viktor has always won this kind of arguments and for some reason, he doesn’t think that’s going to change in spite of everything that has happened.

“Alright, skating is the only thing I want to do. Sound better?”

“Yes!” Viktor chirps, mouth curving into a gentle heart-shape.

Yuuri stares, arrested.

“Yuuri?” Viktor reaches over to poke his cheek. “You okay?”

Yuuri’s on the verge of turning his face to the side and stammering out an excuse when he changes his mind.

“I haven’t seen you smile like that in a long time.”

Viktor’s eyes are wide and his ears a faint pink, and he ducks his head, his fringe falling forth over his eyes. The gesture is familiar and altered, and for a second, there’s another Viktor juxtaposed with the Viktor of the present; younger, his face flaming red before it’s covered by a waterfall of long silver hair.

Yuuri’s reaching out before he can stop himself. His fingers touch the edges of short shorn hair, the image of the past shattering under his touch. He pulls the fringe back, exposing Viktor’s face and the lovely eyes that dart furtively toward him. He misses how easily Viktor used to blush, bright and down to his neck, but this is cute too.

“Hey, Vitya?”

Viktor hums, half a question, half to show he’s listening.

“I didn’t know your forehead got this big.”

There’s a moment of utter silence.

Then a devastated wail tears echoes through the apartment, followed by helpless laughter.

“Yuuri,” Viktor whines, shaking his arm over Makkachin who looks bemusedly between the two humans before hopping off the couch, probably seeking a place where she would be spared their madness. “When did you get so _mean_?”

There are tears in Yuuri’s eyes and for once, they’re from laughter.

“I’m – sor – sorry, oh my god. God, Vitya, your face.”

Viktor releases him in a huff and turns to the side, shoving the remains of his breakfast into his mouth with unwarranted aggressiveness. Yuuri sets his own empty plate on the floor and scoots over, close enough to feel Viktor’s warmth. He leans forward so he can see Viktor’s face, and his heart seizes at the smile he’s trying and failing to hide.

“You’re beautiful, Vitya,” Yuuri tells him, tentatively laying his hand on Viktor’s thigh. “The forehead’s just more to love.”

Viktor huffs, sets his plate down, and turns to Yuuri with a pout that tries to be angry but just manages to be adorable. There are bread crumbs at a corner of his mouth, and it’s all Yuuri can do to not lean in and lick it away.

“Prove it then,” Viktor challenges, and when Yuuri, startled, jerks his gaze back to Viktor’s, he finds his eyes filled with a delicate mix of yearning and nervousness.

There’s no hesitation when Yuuri leans in to press his lips to the center of Viktor’s forehead. He lingers, savoring the soft warmth against his mouth, and finally pulls back with a smile that he can feel deep in his ribcage.

Viktor’s eyes are suspiciously bright. Yuuri catches the first tear with his thumb.

“Why are you crying?” he murmurs, somehow finding himself holding Viktor’s face.

“I don’t know,” Viktor answers, sniffing a little. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

Yuuri pulls away, eyes downcast, everything in him echoing Viktor’s words. He doesn’t go far, just leans into Viktor, and when Viktor’s body relaxes against him, Yuuri allows himself to sink into a slouch.

“Yuuri?” Viktor calls after an indefinable amount of time has passed. Yuuri opens his eyes and tilts his head to look at him, but Viktor’s eyes are up front, intently studying the plain white walls.

“Vitya.”

“What happens to us now?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re leaving soon. And you’re right – our social lives, or work live, I guess – don’t overlap much, if at all. Will I ever see you again?”

“Do you want to?”

Viktor’s hand clenches into a fist on his knee.

“You know the answer to that. You have to.”

Maybe, but Yuuri needs to hear it, but perhaps it’s time he took a chance of his own.

“I know I want to see you,” he tells Viktor. “But I – we tried this thing once, didn’t we? Long distance. That was…”

He doesn’t need to point how that turned out. Viktor knows as well as he does. It occurs a beat too late to Yuuri that Viktor never mentioned a relationship, just seeing each other, but as tempting as it is to rush and take it back, Yuuri knows all too well that what he said is what he meant.

Viktor’s not an ex he can be just friends with. Sara, yes, Michele, yes, even if those two had never been his lovers, more like fuck buddies, and his relationship with Michele has always been a strange, one-sidedly antagonistic one that he still can’t comprehend. Yuuko and Takeshi too; they were his friends first and even after their failed attempt at more, they remained friends.

Viktor was also his friend first, back when they were fifteen and chasing a puppy with a trailing leash through the whole length of their favorite park, bonding over catching the adorable trickster and returning her to her owner. But he remembers just as easily the way feelings sprung up, precious and dizzying and with all the overwhelming force of a hurricane.

Yuuri, then, didn’t know how not to fall in love with Viktor. And he knows now, watching Viktor watch him, that he’s the same.

“I got an offer,” Viktor says quietly. “I’m old now. Models have a short shelf life, you know.”

“You’re still the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen,” Yuuri tells him fiercely. “That I’ll ever see.”

This time, Viktor’s blush reaches his cheek and his eyes are almost reverent when Yuuri strokes over the red spilling over his pale skin.

“Yuuri…” Viktor clears his throat and visibly gathers himself. “Um, well, the, uh, people will think differently soon. But there’s an agency in America that focuses on older models. And they reached out to me a while back, said they’d love to have me as the face of their company. I’ve been…indecisive, but it’s a good offer. Great offer. And they have a branch in Michigan…that’s where Celestino’s rink is, isn’t it?”

For a long few moments, Yuuri can only sit and stare, trying to comprehend what he’s hearing.

“Yuuri, please say something.”

“I – that’s – hell of a coincidence.”

“Yeah. I’m not about to question it though.”

“But Viktor, you life’s in Russia. You’ve been here for years. I can’t ask you to do that for me.”

“I’m doing it for _me_ ,” Viktor snaps before softening. “Sorry. Just – you too. For us, really. But my life here, it’s stagnant. I don’t even remember what I do most days because it’s all so repetitive. I’ve only started being home more this last half a year, and that’s because Makka isn’t as young as she used to be. She needs me more. But Yuuri, what I’m saying is – I’d leave this place behind in a heartbeat if you want me to.”

The unspoken _I need you to want me to_ rings in Yuuri’s ears.

And he does, with a vehemence that grew stronger by the second, as did all the fears accompanying it.

“What if we mess up again? We already did once.”

“We’ll survive. We did that once too,” Viktor says, but he doesn’t sound so sure.

“I can’t,” Yuuri tells him softly. “Lost you once. Can’t again.”

He’s not as resilient as he was at twenty, young and heartbroken but with dreams that drove him forward. Yuuri knows he’s stronger now, but Viktor makes him feel weak in ways that feel so right but could go so wrong.

Viktor’s silence is agreement.

But the other option is not even giving this new, fragile, budding hope a chance and Yuuri – Yuuri has never been a quitter.

“I can extend my stay,” he says. Viktor frowns at him, and Yuuri gently laces their hands together, drawing comfort from the heat of Viktor’s palm against his. “I have a few weeks before I need to give Celestino an answer, and a couple of months before I need to go back to him. I didn’t have any concrete plans for that time, except a visit to my family. But I can stay here. We can…try again. See if we still fit.”

Viktor raises their entwined hands, pressing his forehead to their knuckles.

“I think we do.”

Yuuri exhales, shuddering.

“I think so too.”

“You’d do that for me, Yuuri?”

“For us,” Yuuri corrects, parroting Viktor’s words. “I never thought I’d have you back in my life. And I never imagined I’d find it so good, so hard to let go. It’s a risk, but it’s one I’m willing to take.”

“As am I,” Viktor says with a breathy laugh that vibrates down Yuuri’s spine.

Viktor turns, the hand not in Yuuri’s coming to grasp his shoulder. His eyes are close and brilliant, and Yuuri’s drowning in blue.

“Can I kiss you, Yuuri?”

Yuuri laughs, curls closer, and catches Viktor’s mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> I always love hearing from you.


End file.
